Mr. Brickley, a dear family friend, had a delightful old home that smelled uniquely of fragrant pipe tobacco and roses, and sounded like no other, as dozens of antique clocks chimed melodious tunes throughout the large house. He was always a favorite of our family, and a lovely man to visit, as he was a great storyteller. During one of my last visits with him, I asked him if he had a favorite pie, for I wanted to bake him one. Confined to his bed, he smiled as he spoke of a lemon nut pie his mother used to bake. I hurried home and searched through my vintage recipes to find a baked lemon chess pie recipe. I knew cancer could weaken taste buds, so I added more fresh lemon juice, pecans, and coconut to his pie, for the following visit. When I fed him his first bite, a small tear ran down his sweet, aged face, as he said he hadn’t tasted his “mother’s pie” for eighty years! I made the pie more him for three more weeks, as it was to the only thing that he would eat. The nurse later told me that he died after his last bite of his “mother’s” lemon pie while recalling his happy boyhood days in the 1900’s. It wasn’t long after that experience that I decided I had to make pies for a living. Mr. Brickley and his pie led me to understand the true healing power of food, and especially pies, to a person’s soul. Pies can transport folks back home to their mother, to the warmth of her hugs and kitchen stove; to a simpler time of love, innocence, and childhood.